That Drasted Morning Horoscope Show
by myria-chan
Summary: Wherein Midorima took an extra leap of faith for Oha Asa's Horoscope segment that left the entire team speechless and bothered.


**Title: **That Drasted Morning Horoscope Show

**Author: **myria-chan

**Fandom: **Kuroko no Basket

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. They wouldn't have such lines and dialogues in the series if I did. Then we won't have ships now, won't we?

**Pairing: **Midorima Shintarou x Takao Kazunari

**Summary: **Wherein Midorima took an extra leap of faith for Oha Asa's Horoscope segment that left the entire team speechless and bothered.

**Warning: **Midorima's accuracy in so many ways and levels. :D

* * *

Kissing Takao is like playing a piano piece.

It starts by instinct – hands and fingers ghosting over the smooth surfaces of ivory keys, before finding the first note to play.

It begins with lips forming a soft trail on the side of a cheek, tracing the lines of a strong jaw, travelling to the sides of a mouth, and then – one heartbeat later – capturing their partner with the lightest of touches.

Midorima starts slow at first, testing the unfamiliar melodies of a riveting piece.

Light strokes first. Once. Twice. Three times. Until he loses counts.

These are uncharted territories of senses and impulse. He knows he is unaware of the tune he is crafting, but also knows that he is making progress. The music in his head starts to follow a steady rhythm. Slowly. Intimately. Irrevocably.

With each fluttering kisses, he memorizes the contour of that mouth – its texture, its feeling, its reaction to every differential pressure pressed against it.

With each ministration, he grows bolder, more confident, more aggressive. A pattern of sound and symphony is conceived in his head. He closes his eyes to fully grasp it, to be fully enveloped by it.

Takao's mouth opens in a muted sigh, and Midorima takes this invitation readily. Greedily. Ravenously. Sliding his tongue, he drew out a startled moan.

The first subtle change of melody – the first twist.

A bandaged hand creeps down Takao's small back to press closer, while the other winds up in tangle of dark silken locks – angling for a deeper kiss. Despite the closeness, Midorima felt a smile curl his lips when he felt a pair of knuckles gripping the front of his jersey, shakily anchoring for support.

He will start from this point then, explore a bit more with the notes to make this piece a bit more… Exciting.

Addicting.

His tongue will trace the texture of each tooth – their sharpness and smoothness; discover the tiny spots that make the other shudder and shiver in sweet frustration –that will open his mouth fully for a mating of tongue and taste.

His surrounding was drowned in the flurries of crescendos and dynamics. The taste of spearmint and canned red bean soup marks their union. And he craved for more.

The song inside his head became primitive and primal – became all consuming, all emotion and feeling. Midorima was drugged; his consciousness trapped in the perfection of music and evocative kisses – tangibly artful, delighting all his senses for an explosive, spell binding finale.

They break apart, though do not let go of each other. Faces are flushed and lungs are hastily refilling for much needed oxygen.

"That was…" Takao starts, trying to find his words, recollect his thoughts.

"Intensely thorough," says a voice that was neither his nor Midorima's. It is from Miyaji-san who looks like he will throttle the next unsuspecting person for carelessness of thoughts. Miyaji turns to Kimura. "Pineapple. Juiced. I can feel my blood pressure boiling."

Kimura can but comply.

"I'm honestly bothered," says their coach, who walks away from the basketball courts, in sheer attempt of composing himself.

Otsubo-san, their beloved soon-to-be-ex captain, resembles a thundercloud hovering near Zeus' chambers near Mt. Olympus on a Thursday. Terror comes close. "You have one minute to explain yourself, Midorima."

Three years with Akashi Seijuro has left Midorima impassively calm in such situations, much to Otsubo's chagrin. He just straightens his posture and arranges his glasses, still not letting go of Takao. "The horoscope this morning—"

"Oh dear God—"

"—said that my social skills and concentration would improve exponentially if I find a new hobby that was in line with my interests."

It was half the truth, anyway.

To prove his point, he leaned down for another kiss, a faint melody bubbling at the back of his head.

_Omake_

"To be fair, we never asked what his lucky item for the day was," Kimura-san pointed out of nowhere, while handing Miyaji a bottle of freshly juiced pineapple.

"I sincerely have no care whatsoever right now, Kimura."

* * *

**Notes: **Thoughts? :D


End file.
